


Cub

by Stephen Greenwood (Stephen_Greenwood)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephen_Greenwood/pseuds/Stephen%20Greenwood
Summary: AU post-The Truth, pre-IWTB. Maggie Scully's first visit to the Unremarkable House.





	Cub

**Author's Note:**

> I swore I'd never write kidfic, then Founder's Mutation happened. Blame James Wong.
> 
> For noamchimpsky, who shared a headcanon on Tumblr over a year ago that inspired this.

The couch sags in the middle like there's a sinkhole lurking under the oatmeal upholstery, some gravitational pull that draws its occupants into sitting bodyheat close. It's second hand and was affordable on their on-the-run-money rations, and even though Scully has a job and they have more money now, enough for a replacement, Mulder's grown fond of this couch. It's begun to conform to the shape of his ass, sure, but that dip means William winds up curled against his side like a comma whenever they read or watch TV together. He's there now, the sharp point of his elbow jabbing Mulder's ribcage as he stares transfixed at their second episode of Blue's Clues today. He suckles on the worn ear of his favourite teddy bear, its brown fur damp, glistening, and one small fist grips a chunk of Mulder's grey t-shirt like it's an anchor.

Mulder hopes it is, daren't quite believe it. Not yet. He's putting down roots but knows it'll take time before his efforts bear fruit. It's only been a couple of months and even though William calls him 'daddy' now without thinking about it first, he still looks as concerned as a toddler can look whenever Mulder makes a move to be in a different room. He's used to Scully leaving (though during that first week of her being at the hospital, when the days were one long crying jag, and not just for William, neither Mulder nor Scully was really sure he would ever get used to it) and he's fine with her going because he knows she always comes back later, but Mulder is the one who's always here. Mulder's the one who changes him and wipes his nose and sings off-key Elvis songs as lullabies but it wasn't always that way and what if it wasn't again?

Never, Mulder thinks fiercely. William's separation anxiety is more than understandable and on good days Mulder chooses to interpret his son's clinginess as William's way of saying he likes having him around. On bad days his constant vigilance serves as a reminder that he left once for far too long and he can't be trusted not to do it again. Right now William trusts no one bar Scully, like father, like son. And if that means all Mulder's t-shirts are bunched and he can't pee in private, he can live with that. He's more than happy to live like that.

Mulder smiles and presses a kiss to his son's head. Outside, a car creeps up the gravel driveway.

There's a soft, almost hesitant knock at the door and Mulder freezes for a second. He's technically an outlaw but if anyone's still looking for him he isn't hard to find; the deeds to the house and all the bills are in Scully's name but they must know where she goes there he'll be. They've been left alone for long enough for him to believe he's a paper pariah, a fugitive in a filing cabinet, free to keep his head down and his mouth shut, but all it takes is a bad mood to change somebody's mind and he could start creeping up that famous Most Wanted list. 

But this isn't the knock of authority, they don't have neighbours or friends, and surely they're too far out in the sticks for Jehovah's Witnesses and vacuum cleaner salesmen.

Then he remembers vague snatches of conversation before Scully left for work that morning, phrases such as 'here for four' and 'home by five' that he really should have paid more attention to, only he was busy trying to get William to eat his disgustingly healthy, Scully-approved breakfast, more for appearances' sake than anything else because the minute she was gone the beige crap was going in the trash and something full of sugar and so unnaturally brightly coloured it really ought to warrant an investigation would be going down William's throat instead. 

They'd talked about her mom visiting, of course, and he knows a date was agreed, but all his days blend together and there's no real reason for him to tear pages off a calendar anymore. Maybe his subconscious remembered because he cleaned yesterday, there's a chicken in the oven, and he's even wearing pants.

He scoops William up and takes a deep breath before opening the door. "Hello, Mrs Scully," he says politely.

Maggie has tears in her eyes but she still shoots him a look that basically says 'stop being weird'. He's seen that look at least once a week since 1993, barring a couple of unfortunate periods when he was underground, once literally, once metaphorically. It's one of his favourites and he really, really hopes it's genetic, because he's sure as hell going to give his kid plenty opportunity to use it when he's older.

"Oh, William," Maggie breathes, reaching out a shaky hand to stroke his rosy cheek.

William ducks his head and hides his face in Mulder's chest.

"Sorry," Mulder murmurs, rubbing William's back. "He isn't too good with new people."

Her face falls a little before she pulls herself together again with a strained smile. "Of course. That's all right."

Mulder mentally kicks himself for that slip. He's getting used to having to watch his words but usually they're four-letter ones. "Come on in," he says. "We were just watching a blue dog with a huge head and gravity-defying ears."

He steps aside and lets her pass and he watches her take it all in, this house her daughter is living in, the man she's shacked up with. The furniture's mismatched, the throw over the couch hides a multitude of stains, some theirs, some not, and there are small squares of different coloured paints abusing the neutrality of the living room. An empty carton of orange juice, an apple core, and a few days' worth of newspapers litter the table, with William's wooden blocks scattered across the floor from earlier that morning when he decided demolition was more satisfying than construction. Mulder's suddenly very glad the door to his office is shut.

He hopes she notices the child safety gate at the bottom of the staircase and the cushioned corner guards on the coffee table and he kind of wants to point them out to her and oh, jeez, he realises, I want to impress her. His heart's pounding and he thinks his palms might be a little moist. It's only Scully's mom but, shit, the last time he saw her all he was guilty of was making her a grandma-to-be again and he didn't think she actually minded that too much. It's what's happened since then that gives her just cause to hate him and he has at least an hour with her before Scully gets home because of course she's early, and what the hell can a guy do when there's so much to be said and absolutely no words with which to do it all justice. 

Forget liver-eating mutants, forget flukemen; all it takes to make Fox Mulder sweat is his mother-in-law. 

An apology bubbles up before he can stop it. "Mrs Scully, Maggie, I am so sorry-"

"Can I hold my grandson?" she interrupts, perching on the edge of the couch. Her hands are clasped tightly together on her lap and Mulder sees the restraint it's taking not to reach out for him.

He swallows his grovelling, though it sticks in his throat like a burr, and bounces his child lightly. "William, you gonna go to Grandma? Show her how big a boy you are?"

He's prepared for a refusal of epic proportions and is taken aback when William squirms out of his arms and straight to Maggie without a fuss of any kind. She's the first person William's met since the Wyoming trauma, and that was bad enough to make any kid, never mind a child of his, paranoid. But Mulder's son simply blinks at her.

"Hi, William," Maggie says, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm your grandma, sweetheart. I've missed you so, so much."

"Gamma." William tries it on for size and decides he likes how it fits. "Gamma," he says again with a toothy smile. "Hi."

"Hi," she laughs, hugging him and pressing kiss after kiss to his head. Her tears fall onto William's soft hair like rain.

He tolerates this hugging for a moment before squirming. "We wash boo," he decides, and wriggles his bottom around so he can see the TV.

"We can watch Blue," Maggie agrees, wiping her eyes, and that's what they do, all three of them. William squeals and giggles and points and checks to make sure she's paying attention, looking up at her and babbling in almost-there English, that toddler-speak parents are mysteriously able to decipher sans dictionary. Maggie joins in, delighting in his obvious enjoyment of the programme, in having him safe and whole and in her arms again. She runs her fingers through his hair, silently marvelling at the colour, and a smile never leaves her face.

Mulder sits stiffly beside them, desperately wanting to break the ice, smooth things over, because he likes Maggie and he loves her daughter and he knows Scully will pick up on this atmosphere the minute she walks through the door. He owes it to both of them to try but his earlier apology never got off the ground and he thinks glumly that it could well be Maggie is here for her family and her family only, what's left of it, no thanks to him. 

He shifts uncomfortably and feels oddly bereft without the weight of his son at his side, a touch jealous, even, that he's so happy to sit with Maggie - but then again, he thinks bitterly, he probably remembers her better. It's not William's fault, of course, not Maggie's either; it's just that sometimes he's hit by this black gloom that strikes like lightning but feels like thunder. 

He locked himself in his office for three days after they got William back, unable to see his sweet face without also seeing an accusation. When he emerged like a bear out of hibernation he and William stared at each other before an olive branch in the form of a favourite teddy was proffered and Mulder held his son for the first time in two years.

Now he's being held by someone else and that favourite teddy lies forgotten in the space between them. He's only just closed the distance between them but already the gap is growing.

Maggie's voice loses that overexaggerated quality and takes on a low tone instead. "I can't pretend to understand everything," she murmurs over a diaper commercial, "but Dana assures me both she and William are safe and happy here, with you, and I trust her judgement. You wouldn't have done what you did unless you had good reason to but for the sake of my health if nothing else, Fox, please don't do it again."

"I wa-" he starts but he knows she doesn't need an explanation. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She nods once, seriously, then smiles and reaches her hand out to him. "I'm glad you're okay, Fox."

He squeezes her fingers and returns her smile, doesn't trust himself to say anything, doesn't know if any words could make it past the lump in his throat.

William looks puzzled in that might be gas, might be mulling it over way. "Fucks?"

Mulder bursts out laughing, feels a few tears escape at the same time.

"Yes, honey. Fox. That's your daddy's name," Maggie explains, ignoring Mulder's chuckles.

William turns to him for confirmation. "Daddy fucks?"

He could get so much mileage out of this if only Maggie weren't here. "Yeah," Mulder agrees, still smiling, "Daddy Fox."

* * * * *

Scully's lead foot has her home for quarter to five, still in scrubs and with her hair falling out of its ponytail. She peers around the door like it's Christmas morning and it feels like it just might be when she catches sight of the three people she loves the most huddled together on that godawful sofa, making up silly voices for William's menagerie of stuffed animals.

"Anybody miss me?"

"Mommy!" William shrieks and slides ungracefully off the couch, running heavy-footed to wrap himself around her legs.

She groans as she picks him up and kisses his cheek. "You're as heavy as an elephant," she teases.

"Am no."

And then her mother's coming towards her. She needs someone to pinch her. Mulder materialises by her side, a bedraggled lion in his hand, and silently takes William, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly in the process.

"Dana," Maggie whispers as though anything louder would scare her away.

"Mom." Scully's voice breaks and she holds out her arms like William does when he wants to be coddled.

"Come on, buddy, let's go check on the chicken," Mulder stage-whispers and steals them away to the kitchen because he just knows there's going to be more waterworks than the time she made him watch Terms of Endearment with her and William doesn't need to see his mom and dad crying, not when he's too young to understand the concept of happy tears. 

He pushes the door to but doesn't close it and sets William down, handing him his lion. "Grandma and Mommy need a little time out," he explains, "so we're gonna hang out in here and make dinner like the strong, modern hunter-gatherers we are." Strong, modern hunter-gatherers lucky enough to have an obliging woman in our lives who can go to the convenience store a few miles away and pick up meat that's already been skinned and cleaned.

Mulder knows he'd be a terrible caveman. He'd secretly like to keep a few chickens now they have all this space, just for eggs and company, but the thought of all the Fox in the henhouse jokes - or rather just the one, on repeat - is enough to make him think again. 

He turns the radio on low and scans through the frequencies until he lands on something with a beat. "Wait 'til you're old enough to appreciate the classics," he tells William as he drums his fingers along to Jimi Hendrix's guitar. "We can get tickets, go see 'em live. Clapton, Springsteen, The Rolling Stones... though if the Stones are still strutting about on tour by the time you're old enough to go I'll take that as proof of black magic."

"Hungy," William declares.

"My musical wisdom is wasted on you. Okay, let's see what we have." He doesn't think William's really hungry, it's the simple act of being in the kitchen that makes him think of food and his stomach, but a small snack will keep him quiet for a bit. It's a battle not worth fighting.

"Nahna?" William asks hopefully.

"You're your mother's son," Mulder tells him, pulling a banana off the bunch in the fruit bowl and peeling it. "Sit at the table if we have food."

"Yeah."

He hands William the banana, picks him up and deposits him on his booster seat. "Do you want it cutting up or are you going to take bites out of it like that?"

"Yeah."

'Yeah' is William's favourite word, second only to 'no'. Scully says introducing select options, this or that, will combat it and encourage him to develop his vocabulary but he seems content with affirmation and denial and, since it's only a banana, Mulder lets it slide.

"Okay," he says affably, "you eat that while I chop these tomatoes and onions."

He slices and dices and throws everything into a saucepan to simmer before grabbing paper and emergency crayons from a drawer. They'd been left there from their initial attempts to get William to sit still at the table and the McDonald's experiment, as Mulder referred to it, had worked well enough to keep a stash nearby just in case. It won't be long before William becomes bored with being confined to the kitchen with none of his toys and no TV and in these few short weeks as a real parent Mulder's learned to be resourceful.

"You know what Grandma would really love, William?" he says conversationally. (Another of the things he's learned: the bigger a deal it sounds, the less likely William is to want to do it.) "Your drawings would look great in her home."

William reaches for the crayons and Mulder breathes a sigh of relief. His Picasso-wannabe scribbles away and lets him turn back to the oven, where the chicken has browned nicely and the sauce is the colour it's supposed to be. He'll never be Martha Stewart but he can put a wholesome, cooked family meal on the table now that he has a family to cook for.

He hums along to the radio and sets the table, keeps an eye on his son and stirs away, and somehow half an hour passes before William chirps, "Hi, Mommy."

"Hi, baby." She kisses his head and marvels at his artwork.

Mulder looks at her over his shoulder. Her face is stained with tear tracks but she smiles a tremulous smile at him. "How'd it go?" he asks, setting the wooden spoon against the side of the pan and licking an errant bit of sauce from his finger.

Her bottom lip quivers. "She's my mom."

He nods: enough said. "Where is she?"

"Washing up before dinner. I'm going to go change but I wanted to see my boys first."

Mulder holds out his hand and she rounds the table to wrap her arms around his waist. He tucks her under his chin and closes his eyes and just breathes her in. She's vanilla and hospital and woman, doctor and mother and lover and his, and he hugs her that bit tighter, never wants to let her go. She purrs appreciatively and tilts her face up and looks at him with such affection he can't help but kiss her. Though he lingers it's a chaste kiss but a meaningful one nonetheless, a promise and a prayer, and her smile is genuine and happy.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

He doesn't want to ruin things by being glib so he keeps his mouth shut, simply nods and presses his lips to hers again.

"Dinner smells delicious, Fox," Maggie says brightly as she rounds the corner into the kitchen.

He and Scully both jump and he expects her to pull away - they've never been especially demonstrative in front of others; it's hard to break the habit of a lifetime - but she laughs weakly instead and rests her forehead on his chest for a second.

He rubs her back. "Thanks, Maggie. It won't be too much longer."

Scully peers up at him in apology. He quirks his lips and shrugs: whaddaya gonna do. To his surprise and delight she stands on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on him before she says, "I'm gonna go change."

Maggie smiles.

Mulder feels the tips of his ears burning. 

William looks at him and picks up his red crayon.

* * * * *

Over dinner Maggie gets the Hollywood movie version of their time on the run - the polished truth, with the resentment and illegality and squallid hideouts left on the cutting room floor - and in return shares the latest news on Bill's recent posting, Matthew's as-yet ungranted wish to learn the drums, and her book club's slightly belated response to The Da Vinci Code. As he tidies away the main course Mulder realises that a) this is the longest he's spent in Maggie Scully's company without mentioning the X-Files, b) the whole evening has been frightfully domestic, and c) he's stupidly happy.

"Would you like some more wine, Maggie?"

"I'm driving, Fox, but thank you."

Mulder and Scully share a look. He clears his throat as he sits back down. "We'd really like it if you'd think about staying the night. We haven't seen you in so long and we know it isn't a quick drive to get here, and you'd be driving home in the dark. You can have our bed, I'll sleep on the couch-"

"Oh, no, I couldn't do that."

"We have a sofa bed, an air mattress, and several sleeping bags, too," Scully chimes in. "He won't be uncomfortable. Really, Mom, it's fine."

"Then I'll take one of those," she says decisively. "I'm not kicking you out of bed, Fox."

Scully kicks his shin under the table; she's sure she heard him mumble, "That's what she said," under his breath. "If you're sure. Mulder will set the sofa bed up, won't you?"

"Of course, as long as you don't mind sharing with William. The sofa bed's in his room and I have it on good authority that he snores."

Maggie smiles and pets William's head, strokes his hair down to his nape. "That's fine. We can have a sleepover, can't we, William?"

"Yeah."

"In that case, I will have some wine, Fox, thank you."

Wine for Scully and her mom, beer for himself, and a fruit salad for William, whose eyes light up at the colourful concoction.

"There's a farmer's market every Saturday, about fifteen minutes' away," Scully tells her mom, "and since I took him a couple of weeks ago he's been crazy for it. We picked out our own grapes and apples, didn't we?"

"It was a chore getting you to eat well when you were his age, Dana." Mulder's eyebrows shoot up. "Bill and Melissa ate whatever I put on their plates but you pushed around broccoli like you hoped something more interesting was hiding among it. And mashed potato, well, you must've thought it was like modelling clay."

"Any references to Devils Tower while this was going on?" Mulder asks.

"You grew out of it," Maggie tells her daughter, "and it might be a phase William goes through later, but he certainly seems to be enjoying his fruit."

The boy's mouth is stained so red he looks vampiric. Suddenly aware of three sets of eyes on him, not entirely sure what is expected of him, he glances at each in turn before thrusting a closed fist containing a squashed strawberry at Scully.

"Thank you, William, it's nice of you to share." She takes the mangled fruit and, because he's watching and he's her son, pops it in her mouth. As Mulder would say, it all looks the same at the other end.

Satisfied, he then tries to give his daddy a chunk of pineapple. 

"I'm good, buddy. It's yours, you eat it."

William eyes it with his father's trademark suspicion and decides against it, dropping it back into his bowl. Mulder watches this routine repeat itself for ten minutes while Scully and her mom discuss work, territory he's so familiar with he can dip in and out of the conversation without having to pay too much attention. It's been hard for her, getting back into a semi-routine of early mornings and late nights, being on call and more responsible than ever, working her way back up a ladder after he'd pulled the last one from under her feet. Leaving every day when her heart was screaming at her to stay. Maggie Scully, he knows, had stayed home to raise her four kids while her husband was at sea, and in his darkest hours he wondered when Scully would admit to hating him for making her both a mother and the sole breadwinner in their small, unconventional family. 

He shrugs it off. That kind of thinking is for another time, not now, not when he has his family together under his roof for the first time in years.

When his son drops another grape without really trying to get it to his mouth Mulder looks at the clock on the oven and at his boy's drooping eyelids and says quietly, "I think it's William's bedtime."

"No!" William wails, suddenly wide awake. "No, Daddy fucks!"

Scully looks suitably horrified for her mother's sake though she bites her lip on catching sight of Mulder's grin, silently pleading with him to stop before she has to laugh herself.

"Come on, William," he says, trying for a stern tone but unable to prevent his amusement from seeping in. "You've already had an extra hour's playtime today. Let's get ready for bed and we can read Bark, George before we go to sleep."

"No."

"He's so much like you were at that age, Dana," Maggie says with a smile.

Mulder shoots Scully a triumphant, I-knew-he-didn't-get-it-from-me look. She sticks her tongue out at him.

"William," Mulder sighs, kneeling on the floor amid the protests of his knees, "believe it or not soon the day will come when you'll want to do nothing more than sleep, and sleep until noon at that, and your mother and I will be dragging you out of bed and wondering if you're not part-vampire. I know right now everything's bright and interesting and fantastic and you want to see and do as much as you possibly can and your bed feels like a prison, but if Mommy and I say you gotta go, you gotta go."

William stares, less than impressed, and lets the silence grow between them.

"Two stories?"

He flings himself at Mulder, falling like a dead weight against his father's chest. He wraps his arms around Mulder's neck and squeezes and he's a little like a human noose - 'gentle' is something they're working on - but Mulder constantly finds that his son takes his breath away anyway, and there's something comforting about the 'I love you this much' deathgrip.

He takes advantage of the hug to pick William up out of his booster seat. "Say goodnight to Grandma and Mommy."

"Na-night, Gamma. Na-night, Mommy." He waves over Mulder's shoulder.

"Goodnight, William," they chorus, and hear Mulder ask, "Has Daddy told you about the man in the moon yet?" as he takes William upstairs.

Maggie reaches over the table and covers Scully's hand with her own. "He's perfect, Dana."

She blinks away the tears that well up on hearing her mother's approval, and smiles. "Yes, he is."

* * * * *

It's nearly midnight by the time the wine stops flowing and they head upstairs to bed. After hushed goodnights and alcohol-fuelled, emotions-are-running-high hugs, Maggie manages to sneak into William's room and, as the door snicks shut, Mulder and Scully wait outside with baited breath. William's a light sleeper and is more than happy to showcase his unhappiness by demonstrating his vocal range for up to half an hour after his sleep is disturbed, but tonight all is quiet. They both breathe at the same time, share a smile.

In the ensuite bathroom they wrestle for sink space as Mulder brushes his teeth and Scully wipes her face with make-up remover and moisturiser and another couple of creams he wisely has never commented on. He leaves her to it, sheds his shirt, socks, and jeans like snakeskin and crawls into bed with a relieved, end of day groan. He's enjoyed himself, truly, but he's still getting used to the pace of family life and the energy it takes to keep up with a two-year-old, and he feels each and every one of his forty-something years in his aching joints.

"You okay, Mulder?"

"Just old, Scully."

She peers around the bathroom doorway, rubbing the last of the cream into her forehead. "You should start taking cod liver oil."

"What, no, 'Mulder, you're crazy, you have plenty years left in you, you're in great shape'?"

She climbs into bed next to him with an indulgent smile. "All true," she says, kissing him and patting his cheek, "but you're still getting on a bit."

There's a twinkle in her eyes and a lilt in her voice but he pinches her in mock outrage anyway. "You're lucky I'm confined to this house or the moms at the park you take William to would be all over me. I'm a total DILF, Scully."

Her laugh is as loud as a gunshot and she clamps a hand over her mouth, glancing with wide eyes in the direction of William's room.

"All the excitement wore him out," Mulder reassures her.

She nods and pulls her hand away, strokes her fingers through the sparse hair on his chest. "A DILF, Mulder? Really?"

"Haven't you heard? I'm Daddy Fucks."

She chuffs a tired laugh. "Where in the world...?"

"Blame your mom. She called me Fox a couple of times, the kid decided he liked it."

"I was worried it might have been, you know, the other night..." She flushes adorably.

"I know we have a smart kid and the walls are thin, Scully," he says with a wry grin, "but I think we're safe on that front. Though you were pretty loud."

"Shut up," she says with a smile, swatting at him.

He catches her hand and blows a raspberry against her palm.

"This isn't playtime," she mock-scolds him.

"It could be."

She laughs and wrinkles her nose up in disgust at the same time. "Not with my mom in the next room."

He wordlessly acquiesces, settling down with her in his arms and closing his eyes with a contented sigh. 

"Mulder?"

"Tryna get a little shut-eye here, Scully." Silence, so he cracks one eye open to find her raised eyebrow in his line of sight. "No, seriously. I'm exhausted."

"Today's been a good day, hasn't it? Apart from the foul-smelling pus I drained from this one wound but I didn't wanna bring that up over dinner."

She's sleepy and slurry and he can't help but find her tired, slightly drunk self adorable. He kisses her forehead and smoothes her hair to quieten her down, feels her head grow heavy on his chest. It's a technique he honed on the run, is in the process of perfecting with William, and it never fails to make his heart swell to have someone he loves so trusting in his arms. His family.

"Yeah, Scully, it's been a good day."


End file.
